


Vuelo Rasante.

by Madame_V



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Violence, not really - Freeform, odd tags, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_V/pseuds/Madame_V
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Persistence spin off. Greg was Mycroft's unreachable dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vuelo Rasante.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Persistence.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264133) by [Madame_V](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_V/pseuds/Madame_V). 



> Hello, again. Here's another plot bunny. Ever wondered what kept Mycroft up after he finished matters with the somali that broke into his room during their first conversation? Remember chapter Phonecall? Well, here you go.
> 
> I like writing a sodrid life around 27 year-old Mycroft down and dirty into spy work (Thank you Tammany for having me obsessed with the cannon). Don't get me wrong, bet Greg's own life is kind of grim as well. So when Mycroft sees over to Greg and his sunny attitude, he introspects about his own pent-up self. And the title? I dunno, sounds cooler in my native language.
> 
> REMEMBER I WILL FIND YOU IF YOU DON'T COMMENT, actually no. I'm too sleepy right now to do such a thing. But do comment and tell me what you think!
> 
> Kisses to you shy lot :*

He loathed legwork. Cursing in french and maintaining character as he pressed a cloth soaked in whisky over his wound. Even if there were rare and counted times when Mycroft had to push himself into action, this wasn't an odd occurence and he was trained enough to take care of matters, even if he preferred to infiltrate silently and get out cleanly. Not a trace to be followed, nobody to search for once he dropped character. Two days to go, retrieve and protect was all the order he recieved and his team was possibly working on their own agendas if Mr. Heathley suspected a thing it would be the very end of him.

The somali bled out in the bathtub. Two children would be fatherless because he was considered the best assassin in his village. Mycroft hated visiting Africa with a passion, the plants were poisonous, the insects deadly and people poor enough to do anything for little money.

Sitting back on the filthy toilet he closed his eyes and recalled Gregory's voice. Recalled that night they almost met and his old Eton rommate taunted a reaction from the drunks on the first pool table, it was easy enough to get rid of them without a major incident than the loss of his jacket. Such a shame he hadn't looked at the Sargeant before leaving, witness the awe in his eyes and that gorgeous toothy grin as he handcuffed the felons. The red haired agent opened his eyes, feeling his shirt sticking to his body and bandaged his wound quickly, taking his clothes, a satellital GPS and his phone with him, soon enough disappearing into the night.

Taking a cab and asking to be left at the airport, ready to move on from congo, since matters looked pretty bleak after what he had just witnessed. Mr. Heathly wouldn't leave without causing a fuss, then so be it. One thing was certain, Sherlock would be recruited into the MI6 over his dead and decaying body.

-

Two days later the agent got up in a jolt from a peaceful sleep, he found himself searching under his bed and inside his closet. As he dropped back into bed Mycroft briefly wondered if this ever happened to Gregory. Wether he got up panting and exhausted, screaming at the sight of death and loss, feeling insecure and the looming presence of the monstrosity that was humanity itself searching for him in the dark.

Closing his grey eyes he continued to think of Gregory. To build him up from memory was easy enough, he did watch him attentively for a few moments in that lost pub as his old classmate spoke of nothing of true interest. Dark eyes and greying hair, at this young age other men would have felt compelled to dye it, but he took pride in his genes. And he should. Broad shoulders, strong jaw and dashing smile, in spite of his hair, his confidnce was what draw the eye. The promise behind that amicable grin and dark skin.

“If you're gonna picture me, you could definitely do better, lad” he could hear the rough tones of the young man's voice and he opened his eyes to see the older man in the very same garments he had seen him in that first night. Old leather jacket, confortable jeans and black v-neck, a watch on his left wrist with an old brown leather strap. Dark brown eyes, toothy grin, a day's stubble and messy hair.

“Am I asleep?” he asked out loud.

Cocking his head Greg said “What do you think? You're the clever one in here, Mike” still smiling on all fours, still looming over Mycroft.

Mycroft placed a hand on his chest and said “Yes, well” his eyes moving down to look at Greg's teeth gnawing thoughtfully at his lower lip like he did when Mycroft had lost contact with him. CCTV could bring only grainy footage, yet he knew of cameras that could capture a closer image of the man, deep in thought in a meeting room discussing an urgent case. Biting on his lips in thought “Could you stop that? It's rather distracting” he said placing his fingers on his neck and Greg took his hand midway through pulsation counts, pressing it to his lips.

“Distracting, then” Greg sighed “Maybe it's best if you let yourself rest for a bit, yeah?”

Blinking stupidly Mycroft frowned briefly and let Greg's lips land on his willingly. The older man kissed him slowly, romanticly. And Mycroft observed every bit of it in awe, how Greg closed his doe eyes and deepened the kiss, melting them slowly. Making Mycroft's heart rate pick up and placing a hand behind the younger man's head leading them.

Mycroft did not dare move. Did not dare take a breath in fear of ending this dream. They parted just as softly as the kiss and he watched Greg open his eyes, dark eyelashes and smiling ayes “At loss for words now, Mike?”.

“There's always a first time for everything, is there not?” Greg's chuckle echoed in his modest bedroom.

His smile was so close he could touch it but dreaded to burst this bliss whatever mercy his brain had for him, whatever kind spirit had watched over his dreams and allowed this to happen “I don't wanna go, but it's time, Mike”.

Something hurt in his chest as he felt Gregory's warm hug. And closing his eyes Mycroft tried to grab onto him, but couldn't feel Gregory any longer. He soon remembered he never had and opened his eyes to late afternoon, glaring at the sun rays peering through his bedroom window. Tinging everything within in a soft orange glow. Mycroft sighed... Not longinly, he didn't sigh longing. Not once, not ever and he wasn't letting himself fall into yet another destructive habit.

Sitting up he stretched and saw the light in his phone indicating a text message.

'So, my theory about the other night is that I hallucinated the whole thing. GL'

Of course, his clumsy confession from two nights ago. Mycroft let out a shaky breath and as he continued reading Gregory's texts, he felt disarmed and willingly at his mercy. 'No harm shall come to the faithful' he thought and chuckled at some of Gregory's odd ideas. Just a tad bit longer of this dream.

Calling him might have been a mistake, Greg's voice threw him over the edge of madness quickly enough. His aloof approach and taunting words tempting him further, only highlighting that corner of his mind he kept to himself and lacking the composure he would give into carnal temptation far too easily.

But if Gregory decided to ask him out Mycroft himself wouldn't delude himself with any other idea and knew full well that he was likely to scream 'yes' on the rooftops. Dropping the phone on his bed and going to the bathroom to get ready to go to the office.


End file.
